


schlattbur drabbles

by foolishclown



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Smut, Romance, Sad Wilbur Soot, Sad and Happy, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, some of these chapters are really dark, suicide aftermath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishclown/pseuds/foolishclown
Summary: a bunch of schlattbur drabbles/oneshots! feel free to request in the comments:)no explicit smut in these!
Relationships: Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 244
Kudos: 905





	1. fluff/mild smut

**Author's Note:**

> hehehe <3 felt kinda soft 
> 
> slight tw for mild smut/mentioned self harm and disordered eating

“God, you’re such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur rolled his eyes at the childish response. Schlatt was absolutely infuriating. 

“You... Jesus Christ. Just leave me alone, alright? You can’t possibly be civil with me, so fuck off.” 

Schlatt bared his sharp teeth at Wilbur, a clear intent behind the smile.

“Of course I could be civil,” a hand ran up his clothed shoulder, resting on the crook of his neck. “especially with you, darling.” 

Wilbur felt himself heat up. The atmosphere of tension shifted into something different. 

“...Schlatt?” 

Schlatt raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?” 

“Just admiring you. You look pretty when you’re mad.” 

Wilbur could barely believe the words that came out of his mouth. He blushed at the compliment, brain turning to mush from such a simple action. Was he really _that_ touch starved? 

Their faces were suddenly a lot closer than before. 

Chapped lips pressed into soft ones, the hand sliding from the crook of his neck to grasp his jaw. Schlatt pressed into him, slowly backing him into the tree. Wilbur whimpered into his mouth, shock setting in. He tangled his fingers into dark brown curls, holding on as tight as he could as he felt himself unravel. 

They stayed like that for a while, Schlatt’s free hand trailing lower and lower down the warm body against him. Wilbur felt his jacket being pulled off, adjusting his grip on the hair to allow it, his sweater coming off moments later. Schlatt pulled away from the kiss, eyes lidded and content. He ran his hands down Wilbur’s pale torso, eyes sparkling with genuine affection as he explored visible collar bones, tracing his hands over slightly jutting out ribs. 

“You need to eat more, Wil. You feel... small.” 

Wilbur felt slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t... on purpose or anything; food was just hard to come by—well, that’s what he told himself. It was less painful than admitting he didn’t feel like he deserved any. 

“I... I will.” 

The thought of Schlatt being genuinely worried about him made no sense to Wilbur. The thought of _anyone_ being worried about him felt foreign. 

Schlatt let out a small hum, seeming unsatisfied. Still, he dropped it, tracing small circles over Wilbur’s scarred body, distantly wondering if all of these were _really_ just from fights. Some of them seemed... too purposeful. 

This wasn’t the time, he decided. 

Wilbur watched as Schlatt unzipped his pants, slowly pulling them down, stopping halfway to look up, waiting for the okay to continue. 

Once again, Wilbur was shocked. He had never, ever had anyone actually... stop and check. He realized that was a low bar, but... he certainly hadn’t expected it to be met by Schlatt of all people. Nodding, he ran his hands back into the curls for added emphasis. Schlatt took the hint, pulling them the rest of the way off with some help from Wilbur. 

“God,” his voice was breathy, “you’re so beautiful.” 

Wilbur smiled uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to such positive attention. Tan hands ghosted over pale skin, trailing down his thighs. Schlatt was clearly in no hurry, truly admiring him. 

“Schlatt... you—you can go a little faster, you know.”

Schlatt hummed, hooded eyes staring up. “It’s not my fault you’re this gorgeous.” 

Wilbur honestly thought he was going to cry. Holy shit, he didn’t know how to deal with this. His face turned red, glancing off to the side to avoid eye contact. Schlatt frowned slightly, standing all the way up. 

“Are you okay, Wil? I can stop if you want.  You seem upset.” 

Wilbur couldn’t meet his eyes, staring off. “No, n-no, it’s okay, nothings wrong, of course. I just... I don’t know what to say, you... you’re being so nice to me.” 

  
Schlatt didn’t seem convinced. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Really.” 

  
Taking a shaky breath, Wilbur turned to lock eyes with him, putting on his best brave face. “Please, Schlatt. I really, really don’t want you to stop.” 

A warm smile spread across Schlatt’s face. 

“Good. Okay. Good.” He leaned in closer, mouth getting dangerously close to Wilbur’s neck. As soon as he made contact, Wilbur’s hands instinctively flew back to his hair, tilting his head to allow easier access. Schlatt chuckled to himself. Wilbur really was submissive, huh? 

Schlatt let himself explore, leaving dark hickies in every spot he could. Wilbur felt his breath hitch, letting out a soft whine as Schlatt just barely grazed his skin. 

He _needed_ more. 

Arms wrapped around Schlatt, pulling him closer, bodies now fully pressed into each other. Wilbur bucked his hips, letting out a low groan. Schlatt was so warm, so inviting. 

The soft kisses became much more intense, Schlatt leaving a few hasty marks before pulling up to meet Wilbur’s lips again, pushing against him with all his strength. 

Wilbur felt himself melt in the hold, no resistance found. 

They would stay like that for quite a while, Schlatt eventually sinking to his knees, leaving Wilbur shaking and sending pretty noises echoing through the empty woods. 

When he was satisfied with his work, Schlatt helped Wilbur to the ground, the shaking knees a clear warning sign that he was close to collapsing. Laying his jacket underneath Wilbur, Schlatt took one more long gaze at the beauty beneath him. 

Wow. 

That went very well.


	2. hurt and comfort babey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. 
> 
> It didn’t hurt enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothin but some angst and comfort here boys 
> 
> TW TW for graphic self harm and disordered eating mentions

It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. 

It didn’t hurt enough. 

Wilbur dug his knife into his arm again, eyes unfocused and droopy. 

It was _never_ enough. 

The crimson blood spilled all over him, countless cuts already covering his body. 

He wanted it to hurt more. 

Digging into his thigh, the pain was barely noticeable. When had he gotten so accustomed to it? Why did it no longer sting? 

Frustrated, he tossed the knife aside, running blood stained hands down his face in exasperation. He wanted to feel something. He needed to feel something. 

He didn’t know how to anymore. 

Wilbur didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep, but he woke up uncomfortable and sweaty, blood dried all over his body. His hair fell in his eyes, dried tear streaks that he didn’t recall crying on his cheeks. 

He moved on with his day. He didn’t bother cleaning or bandaging the cuts. Part of him wanted them to get infected, anyway. Maybe that would make them hurt. 

Wobbling, he stood, the dull ache in his stomach reminding him that he needed to eat. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t _deserve_ to, not a bit. 

His head spun, vision going dark as he made his way through his mess of a house. It had been days since he had last ate. The hunger pangs and growling brought a smile to his face. 

The day was a blur. It was just another repeat of the day before, hazy and bland. Until he ran into _him_.

Schlatt. 

The only person who cut through anymore. His smile, the way he taunted Wilbur. He could listen to the cruel words all day. 

A terrible, disgusting part of him wished the words were kinder. 

No, no. Fuck that. He didn’t deserve that. Not at all. 

“Wilbur, did you fuckin’ die?”

Wilbur snapped his head up, raising his eyebrows in response. “What? No, why?” 

“I mean, you’ve been silent for like, three minutes now. It’s like talking to a brick wall. A really ugly brick wall.” 

Wilbur tried to force a smile, lips cracking at the pressure. “Right. Sorry, I’ll be less ugly next time. Wouldn’t want to offend your precious eyes.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Speaking of which, why do you have dried blood on your hands? On your period?” 

Wilbur looked down. Oh. Yeah, that was more visible than he had realized. 

“Uh. Just... had a nosebleed.” He felt his eye twitch, brain suddenly becoming foggy. Shit, the feeling was back. He needed more. He was so fucking stupid, he didn’t even consider that Schaltt would see. 

Schlatt chuckled lightly, but felt uneasy. Something about this didn’t sit right with him. 

“Yeah, okay. Maybe wash your hands next time, I guess.” 

Wilbur nodded slowly, eyes unfocusing. He instinctively clawed at his wrists, wishing he had something sharper. Self hatred coiled around his brain, cutting off all sensible thought. Fuck, he had to get out of here. 

“Wilbur? Wilbur, are you... okay?” Schlatt stared ahead, noticing the sudden flush of cheeks, the way the taller man’s breath picked up rapidly. 

Wilbur felt like he was being choked. Blood rushed to his head. He suddenly felt extremely weak. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was he shaking so much? What the fuck was wrong with him? 

When no response came, Schlatt took a cautious step forward, worry rising. “Wilbur? Talk to me, what’s going on?” His tone was completely different than before, genuine worry evident. 

His world spun around him, suddenly very lightheaded. Everything in his body told him to run, but he had no strength to. Tears pricked in his eyes. Why was he suddenly feeling so much at once? He hadn’t felt anything in so long. His entire body shuddered, his heart pounding against his chest. 

“I don’t- I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I-“ He covered his mouth, suddenly feeling sick. 

Schlatt widened his eyes. He had never seen Wilbur act even remotely like this. “Hey, no, it’s okay, you’re okay. Just breathe.” 

Wilbur shook his head aggressively, clenching his fist. “I can’t- can’t breathe-“ 

Schlatt put a gentle hand on his shoulder, dropping all trace of his previous act, all malice gone. “I think you’re having a panic attack. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, just try to take deep breaths. I promise nothing bad will happen.” 

He _couldn’t_ take deep breaths, he couldn’t even breathe as it was. He shook his head violently, suddenly far too hot. 

Schlatt gazed down as Wilbur rolled up his sleeves, mind only on relief from the heat.

Oh. 

Oh my god.

There were possibly thirty or more cuts on just one arm, all random and in various levels of depth. 

“Wilbur.” 

They locked eyes, Wilbur’s gaze unfocused and bleary. 

“Schlatt?” His voice was weak, pathetic and small. 

“What... what is this?” 

Wilbur almost laughed, his entire body shaking with effort. “What am I supposed to say?” 

Schlatt was silent for a moment, mind racing. 

“I don’t fucking know. What... what... why? Why the fuck would you do this?” 

He didn’t mean to sound as mean as he did. Of course, he knew speaking to someone in the middle of a panic attack like this was shitty, but he was at a genuine loss. 

Wilbur wrapped his arms around himself, head pounding. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey- no, don’t... Wil, it’s okay, please just take deep breaths.” 

Distantly, Wilbur felt Schlatt’s hands on his arms, holding him steady and keeping him close. _Fuck, make it stop_. He’s just so lightheaded... why was he so dizzy? 

The shaking body suddenly fell forward, dead weighting on Schlatt who quickly wrapped his arms around him to attempt to keep him up. “Oh- shit, Wilbur—“

His vision was going dark, the situation hazy and far away to him. He held onto Schlatt, hoping his hold would keep him grounded to reality. He muttered something even he couldn’t understand, legs giving out under him as Schlatt adjusted to hold his full weight. 

Without realizing it, he was lowered to the ground on his back, Schlatt leaning over him. “Wilbur, I think you need to go to a hospital. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” 

Wilbur lightly shook his head, pulling on Schlatt with weak arms to try and get him to lay against him. “It’s just some cuts, I just... haven’t eaten enough. I-it’s no big deal.”

“No, you’re not acting right. Something is seriously wrong with you.” 

Halfway successful; Wilbur felt Schlatt against him, still wishing he was closer. God, he wanted Schlatt to touch him. It made him momentarily forget just how fucked up he was. 

“Wilbur, I’m serious, don’t ignore me. I have to take you somewhere.” 

“Okay... but please, Schlatt. Please just hold me first.”

This seemed to stun the shorter man.  After a moment of silence, he did just that, laying down next to Wilbur and wrapping his arms around him as Wilbur buried his face in his chest.

Schlatt rubbed circles into Wilbur’s back, shutting his eyes tight to block out his panicked thoughts.

Wilbur knew this wouldn’t last. Schlatt would get tired of him. It was probably just a joke, there was no way Schlatt was actually being this nice to him. Still...

He wished he could stay like this forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! i hope you have a good day<3


	3. hurt and comfort pt2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a continuation of the last one, tooth rotting fluff because i’m sad :’) 
> 
> TW for self harm mentions and disordered eating + panic attacks

Wilbur begged, Wilbur _pleaded_. Sobbed, cried out, held on tight and let his chest shake with every breath. 

He was begging Schlatt, begging him not to take him anywhere. He was fine, he really was. The only thing wrong with him was the constant stream of panic, closing his throat and speeding up his breathing. 

“I— I have to take you somewhere, you’re hurt and just don’t... there’s something _seriously_ wrong with you, Wil.” 

Shaking his head violently, Wilbur took a deep, shaky breath. “I know, I know there is. But p-please, please just let me go home. I know it’s bad, but I can fix it, I promise I can.”

Schlatt was at a loss. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do here. Pausing, he licked his lips, glancing aside for a moment before turning back to meet crying eyes. 

“Okay. I’ll... I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna come with me, to my house. I can’t leave you alone, but I don’t want you force to into some weird hospital or anything. But you have to let me... let me help you, okay?” 

Wilbur blinked slowly, letting the idea settle. 

“Okay.” 

And they did just that, Schlatt practically carrying Wilbur towards his house, the walk long and quiet. Wilbur would occasionally have to stop, dangerously dizzy and close to blacking out. Schlatt was as patient as he could manage, letting Wilbur steady himself before helping him along. They arrived to the modest home. It wasn’t huge or anything, but it was definitely well kept. 

Once inside, Wilbur took a look around, realizing he had never actually seen inside. It was decorated... strangely, but not poorly. Schlatt invited him into the living room, showing him a brief tour before helping him to the couch. Wilbur hated feeling like a burden, hated how Schlatt had to help him do such basic things, but he felt so weak on his feet. Explaining that he was going to get a few things, Schlatt left him alone on the couch. 

The strangeness of the situation hit him. Schlatt, his should be enemy, was helping him. Not just helping him, he was being... kind. _More_ than kind to him. 

The panic in his chest was replaced with a painful longing. He pushed it down as far as he could, swallowing hard. He didn’t need to make this any weirder. 

After a few minutes, Schlatt returned, breaking Wilbur from his trance. Awkwardly, he shuffled to sit by him. 

“So... your cuts... definitely need medical attention, and I’m not a doctor or anything, but I have some of the shit to help, alright?” 

Wilbur nodded, realizing how hard it was becoming to concentrate on words. 

“Okay, great. So, uh... I know there’s ones on your arms, but, do you have anymore?” 

God, this sucked. He felt so uncomfortable, so ashamed of himself. He stared at the floor, unable to meet the caring gaze. “Yeah. I do. All over my legs and torso. I mean, literally all over. Most of them don’t need any help, though.” 

Slowly, he rolled up his pant leg, revealing just his calves, already showing countless cuts in various stages of healing. 

Schlatt tried to ignore the way his eye twitched. Fuck, this was so bad. He didn’t think it was gonna be this bad. 

Resisting the urge to fully break right then and there, Schlatt nodded slowly. “Okay... I’m gonna... put this antibiotic on the ones on your arm and wrap them up, alright?” 

Like a broken record, Wilbur nodded again. “You don’t... need to do this, you know.”

There was no response, Schlatt biting his tongue. He knew he would come off as cruel if he spoke what he wanted to, so he kept it to himself, electing to instead focus his attention on the cuts. 

It felt weird to be treated like this. Wilbur had never had another person notice his self harm, much less bandage him up, especially with such care. 

After a painfully long time, Schlatt finished with his arms. They sat in silence for a moment, understanding the situation. 

“I... how bad are the ones on your torso and legs?” 

“Not bad. Seriously. They’re really not as bad as the others.” 

Schlatt didn’t believe him for a second. A small, terrible part of him was infuriated that Wilbur would lie to him. But he kept it under wraps, humming thoughtfully in response. 

“Okay. I’ll... leave those alone for now, then. You need to eat, so I’ll go get you something.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. Schlatt was being so, so kind to him, he couldn’t deny it. 

Leaving for longer this time, Schlatt returned with what appeared to be a turkey sandwich. Wilbur smiled a little, amused at the offering. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s tragic, you can laugh. I have, like, nothing in my house right now, so it was this or cereal.” 

Wilbur’s smile grew, shaking his head lightly. “No, no, it’s wonderful. Just a little funny, is all.” 

Schlatt huffed, sitting back down beside him and handing him the plate. All previous humor left Wilbur as he stared down, vision practically tunneling. He couldn’t eat this. He couldn’t fucking do it. 

_It’s just a sandwich_ , he chided himself, _don’t be a child. He’s being nice, you have to._

Shaky hands picked up the bread, bringing it closer to himself. His thoughts raced, stomach churning before he even opened his mouth. Oh, fuck, he couldn’t. He couldn’t, no, no, _no_. His heart raced, fight or flight kicking in for seemingly no reason. 

Schlatt stared, noticing the reaction almost immediately. “Hey. Wilbur. Look at me.” 

Obeying, he turned his head, feeling tears well up in his eyes. 

“It’s okay. _You’re_ okay. But you have to eat, Wil. You’re gonna get seriously sick if you don’t.” 

Wilbur wanted to argue that he was _already_ seriously sick, but he couldn’t even form the words. He just shook, lightly shaking his head and letting the sandwich fall back onto the plate. 

“Wilbur, please.” 

His heart sped up, breath impossibly fast and shallow. He felt like he wasn’t even in his own body anymore, like he was watching a bad movie. 

“I-I can’t, I can’t, please, _please_ d-don’t make me-“ 

Schlatt felt stuck. He didn’t know what to do. What was he even supposed to do? Wilbur was going to straight up die if he didn’t do something. 

“You have to. I promise you’ll feel better once you do, seriously. How long has it been, Wil?” 

“I don’t k-know. Three—four days, maybe?” 

Schlatt could have thrown up. Was he fucking joking? He must be kidding. This was just some terrible, elaborate prank. There was just _no_ way. 

“Wilbur.” His tone was harsh and firm, leaving no room for argument. “Eat. Seriously.” 

Tears finally spilled out, streaming down his pale cheeks. He said nothing, picking back up the sandwich and staring at it like it was a pipe bomb. After an internal battle, he took a hesitant bite. He was immediately overwhelmed with nausea, stomach threatening to spill without anything in it to do so. Genuinely choked with sobs, he swallowed, the feeling disgusting. 

At some point, Schlatt had put a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving affirming strokes and staring intently. “That’s great, Wil. Just keep going.” 

He didn’t want to keep going. He wanted to drop dead right then and there. 

But, he continued. 

After he was halfway done, he genuinely had to stop to catch his breath, his entire body shaking with sobs. He hiccuped, shutting his eyes for a moment. 

“Are you okay? Tell me what’s going on.” 

Schlatt sounded so genuinely concerned that it hurt Wilbur to hear. 

“C-can’t, just can’t. Hurts. Hurts so bad. Is hal-half enough?” 

It most certainly was not. 

Schlatt smiled sadly, regarding the barely touched sandwich. After a long sigh, he flicked his gaze back up to meet the desperate brown eyes. 

“Yeah. It is. You did great, Wil. Seriously. You really did.”

Part of him knew it was a lie, but... the praise still comforted him, warmth surging through his weak body. Schlatt removed the plate, but didn’t leave, just placed it off to the side. 

“I know you probably don’t want to stay here with me, but... I can’t let you go home alone. It just isn’t... safe.” 

Wilbur laughed weakly, wrapping his arms around himself. “W-why wouldn’t I want to stay with you?” 

Schlatt was caught off guard by that. He raised his eyebrows, trying to keep the slightly smug smile off his face. “I don’t know, Wil. Didn’t... expect that one from you.” 

Despite how pitiful he felt, something about Schlatt’s presence truly comforted him. He was pleasantly surprised when arms pulled him closer, nearly into his lap. 

“This okay?” 

Wilbur was stunned yet again, nearly at a loss for words. 

“Y-yes.” 

Schlatt smiled to himself, adjusting it so that Wilbur was draped over him as he laid on his back. Wilbur turned slightly, just so that he could see the other man’s face as he was held. 

Arms wrapped around him, keeping him flush to the man underneath him. Normally, this would be a strange position; but... something about the way Schlatt held him was just... perfect, no matter the situation. Schlatt was sitting up just slightly so that the angle was better. 

“Schlatt- I, uh...” Wilbur struggled to find the words. He felt the intense need to say something worthwhile, to try to repair the damage on his reputation. But, he remained, pathetic and shaking, unable to come up with anything that could make sense of this mess. 

Schlatt raised his eyebrows slightly. “Yeah?”

“N-never mind.” 

They stayed in that comfortable silence for a while. 

Schlatt noticed Wilbur’s breathing slow, no longer hyperventilating. In fact, his head was completely against Schlatt’s chest, still. 

“Wil?” 

No response. He dared to move a little, shifting so he could see the other man’s face. 

His heart fluttered, brain straight up short circuiting. 

Wilbur was asleep on him. 

And so, Schlatt would stay there as long as he slept, he would hold him and run hands through his hair, check his breathing and check his pulse. 

His paranoia subsided after a while, and he let himself relax into the couch, allowing his own eyes to shut. 

Schlatt didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did remember waking up—waking up to Wilbur even closer, stomach down on him and face in the crook of his neck, still asleep. It had gotten dark outside, the house nearly pitch black. 

Wilbur was _safe_. That was all Schlatt needed. 

He was safe with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yea i’m lonely 
> 
> comments and kudos are MUCH appreciated it makes my dayyyyy also it’s my bday xoxo y’all ever write mcyt fanfic on ur birthday? Man that’s sad LMAO


	4. lots of angst boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt turned his head to meet Wilbur’s gaze. They were at a party, a notably shitty one, and both clearly communicated the same thing in one look: this sucks.
> 
> or:
> 
> Wilbur gets drugged, and Schlatt finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWWW for someone being drugged/implied sexual assault 
> 
> i hope u enjoyyyyim writing this because i’m sad bahah how do u cope with ur sad life if you don’t write mcyt fanfics

Schlatt turned his head to meet Wilbur’s gaze. They were at a party, a notably shitty one, and both clearly communicated the same thing in one look: _this sucks._

Wilbur was holding a cup of something, probably a shitty makeshift cocktail the host made them all earlier. Schlatt already had his fair share of drinks that night, noticeably tipsy, but not drunk. Wilbur seemed steady and sober, so Schlatt didn’t bother worrying over it. 

Besides; Wilbur wasn’t the one who was known for getting out of hand. So, after a small wave, he moved on, making his way through the crowd of loud people and blasting music. The lights were bright and disorienting, flashing in a strange pattern. 

Passing a couple making out in a corner, he made his way to the bathroom, closing it behind him, enjoying the way the music became distant. He exhaled, not even realizing he had been holding his breath. He was... usually a party guy, really, he was. He liked them, and people liked him to be there. 

But this one was different. He had been, well, a bit _down_ recently. He tried to blame it on something; maybe alcohol, maybe drugs, maybe he was just sad. But he knew what it really was. 

Wilbur. He couldn’t stop thinking about _Wilbur_. 

Insane. Literally insane. There was no good excuse for this, not at all. He was a creep, a fucking creep. Wilbur had no interest in him, and he knew that. There was no hope for that relationship. 

But he couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t shake the deep longing that bore a hole in his chest. It sucked. Worse than the party. Worse than anything. 

He examined his appearance in the mirror, eyeing himself up and down. He looked... gross. Like, worse than normal. 

He just shook his head at his own reflection, noticing the way his hair fell over his face when he did. Shit, he needed a haircut. 

The music got increasingly louder, seeping through the closed door, ringing through his ears. 

Sighing, he opened the door, the sounds and lights washing over him in full blast as he once again passed the couple—who were noticeably less dressed—and walked back into large crowd. The distant small talk and chatter annoyed him. How was everyone so chill about this? 

Unable to help himself, he scanned the room for Wilbur. When he didn’t see any sign of him, slight panic rose in him. 

_Oh, for fucks sake. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need you to look out for him_ , he chided himself. _You’re being even weirder._

Grabbing the nearest bottle of something, downing a substantial amount of it, cringing at the burn. _Jesus christ_ , why do these guys buy this shit? He tried to shake the feeling of panic, failing miserably. 

Someone bumped into him, nearly causing him to drop the bottle. He turned, ready to complain, but stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, hey—Sorry, Schlatt, I-I didn’t mean to hit you.” 

Wilbur. Oh thank _fuck_.

“It’s fine! Yeah, no, it’s fine. Uh... yeah.” He smiled, nervous energy practically radiating from him. 

Wilbur smiled back, a strange look in his eye. Schlatt examined him, noticing he was obviously off balance. There was a far away look in his eyes, looking straight through Schlatt. 

“Uh... you okay, Wil?” 

Wilbur stumbled forward, hand reaching for Schlatt and landing on his arm. “Y-yes. I’m fine—just feel... dizzy, or something...” 

The panic fully enveloped him. He reached out with his free hand to steady Wilbur, who was slowly falling forward. “Holy shit, how much did you drink?” 

Wilbur, now completely against Schlatt, shook his head lightly. “Not much at all-I... just-just... one... two?” 

Slowly pushing him off just enough to see his face, Schlatt stared into blown up pupils. He wracked his brain for an answer, coming up with only one, one he really really _really_ didn’t want it to be. 

“Who gave you the drink?” 

Wilbur’s eyes slowly closed, completely dead weighting in Schlatt’s arms. He opened his mouth, but words didn’t come out. Shaky arms wrapped around Schlatt, clawing at his back for leverage. Panicked gasps for air escaped him, his body failing him. 

“S-Schlatt—“ 

The party around them seemed to become further away, the noise quieting down. Schlatt held the other man up, indescribable terror building in his stomach. “Fuck, Wil- okay, it’s okay, we’re gonna go now, alright? We’re gonna take you outside, get you home, okay?”

Wilbur barely registered what was being said to him, his world spinning and going black around him. His hold on Schlatt became weaker, his legs rapidly giving out. “I... ‘m sleepy, don’t f-feel good, d-don’t feel-“ He cut himself off, body fully giving out, leaving Schlatt to try his best to catch him, holding him up with all his strength, groaning at the effort. 

Without speaking, Schlatt walked him out the back door, just barely avoiding the crowd of people who were too preoccupied to even notice them. Every scenario rushed through Schlatt’s mind, hands shaking. _Fuck_ , who did this? What drug was it? Should he take him to a hospital? What if the person is looking for him? 

The cold air hit them, the night quiet and empty. Schlatt helped Wilbur onto the ground, propping him up against the wall so he wasn’t laying on the hard concrete. 

“Wilbur? Can you talk to me? Wil?” 

No response. The brit had his eyes shut tight, head lolled to the side. He mumbled something, pulling his arms up to wrap around himself, pulling his knees closer. 

“Wilbur? Hey, I need you to talk to me, I need to know what’s going on.” 

With a slight shake of his head, Wilbur forced his eyes open, the world a jumbled mess of colors and shapes around him. Schlatt was right in front of him, his hand outstretched to Wilbur, a steady hold on his shoulder. “Don-don’t know. Mmm... not good. Feel weird. Bad.” 

His speech was so slurred, Schlatt could barely make out the words. Fuck, this was terrible. Holy shit. The realness of the situation sank in. 

Someone drugged Wilbur. Someone was going to... do _something_ to him. 

If he hadn’t found Schlatt... Wilbur would have been...

No. No, no. Nope. No. 

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I-I... I think I need to take you home, or maybe to a hospital, I don’t know, honestly.” 

Wilbur let out a small moan, flinching like it hurt. “Nooo,” he met Schlatt’s concerned eyes, “no hospital. No, no—‘s okay, ‘m fine.” 

Weighing his options, Schlatt hung his head. They needed to leave here as soon as possible, hospital or not. He wasn’t sure what drug it was, or how much, it could have been an overdose, but... he would take his chances, figure it out once they were out of here. 

“Okay. Okay, let’s get you home then, alright?” 

With some effort, Schlatt got him off the ground, leading him to his car. He realized if anyone saw this, it would look _pretty_ bad. Ignoring his anxieties, he pulled open the passenger door, helping Wilbur inside. As soon as he let him go, Wilbur collapsed, nearly unconscious now. The panic rose in his chest again, rushing around to the drivers side to get in. 

Speed limits be dammed, he arrived at his house in no time, getting Wilbur out and on his feet with a struggle. He was mumbling things Schlatt couldn’t quite catch, head lolled forward, curly brown hair falling over his eyes. 

With all his strength, he tried to piece his words together. “S-Schlatt... gonna... p-pass... pass...” 

Wilbur went fully limp, falling to the ground with no time for Schlatt to catch him. 

“ _Shit!”_

Strong arms pulled his now unconscious body up, pulling him into a bridal style carry, barely able to make it through the door. 

Once inside, Schlatt didn’t even bother to turn on a light, carrying Wilbur to the spare bedroom, laying him on the bed as gently as he could. Shit. _Shit_. Should he call an ambulance? Or is this just a normal side effect? Whipping out his phone, he hastily searched for answers, praying google wouldn’t be completely useless. 

After a couple of searches, he was pretty certain he needed to call someone. Fuck, this isn’t a situation he had ever prepared for. And to _Wilbur_ , of all people?

Rage seeped into the panic, his eye twitching as he dialed emergency services, sitting by Wilbur, hand on his chest to monitor his breathing, short and shallow. After offering all the information he had, the operator told him that the ambulance was on the way. She didn’t say it to Schlatt, but judging by her willingness to call the ambulance instead of him driving Wilbur there— something was wrong. 

He had told them everything, how Wilbur was in and out of consciousness, unable to form words, breathing weak. Her voice didn’t show it, but he knew this was bad. He watched Wilbur closely, updating her when she asked. He had started twitching, unconsciously jerking. Sometimes, he would mutter something, hands clenching and pulling his knees to his chest, going fully limp again moments later. 

“S...Schlatt...” 

His eyes widened, the barely audible voice piercing through him. 

“Wilbur? Hey, I’m right here, Wil.” To prove his point, he put a hand on his burning hot cheek, cupping it gently. The taller man leaned into the touch, making a pitiful face. 

“What’s goin’ on...?” 

The way he spoke broke Schlatt’s heart. He sounded so scared, so small. 

“You’re in my house, Wil. Something happened at the party, but you’re about to get help, okay?” He offered a comforting smile, not even sure Wilbur could see his face. 

“Oh... mmm... okay. That... ‘s fine... just don’t feel good.” 

“Tell me what’s wrong, why don’t you feel good?” 

Wilbur paused, his eyes shifting away from Schlatt, staring blankly ahead. “Just... bad... can’t think. Tired... sleepy. Can you... can you...?” His hand reached up, grabbing at Schlatt, an unspoken request. 

Raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise, Schlatt stared forward for a moment, trying to make sense of the gesture. “Do you want me to... hold you?” 

Wilbur nodded weakly, shutting his eyes again, wincing at seemingly nothing. 

He hesitated. Was this an okay thing to do? I mean, it’s not like he’s... doing anything to him, but would not drugged Wilbur be okay with him touching him? He had never asked or anything, they had never... really hugged, even. 

Pushing that aside, he moved himself up the bed, tuning out the operators chatter as he leaned down, letting the shaky arms wrap around him. He did the same, bringing Wilbur up to his chest, holding him gently, but tight. 

After a moment, the woman on the phone caught his attention. 

“Sir? Sir, the ambulance is about to be there.”

Sure enough, sirens sounded outside his house. Sighing, he pushed himself up, not missing how Wilbur frowned, pulling his legs up to his chest for a second time. 

The emergency services were definitely efficient. They had Wilbur in there within minutes. He noted the way they stared at each other, sharing knowing glances. It made him angry. If something was wrong, they should tell him, this was his _friend_. They didn’t invite him to ride with them, and he didn’t know how to even ask that. So he stayed silent, watching with intensity. Wilbur met his gaze, eyes barely open. 

He smiled. Smiled at Schlatt. 

The lady explained that they were going to take him to the local hospital, that Schlatt could drive there and come see him when they had him ‘stable’. He really, _really_ hated the way they said that. Fuck, he wasn’t stable _now_? God, he should have brought him in immediately, this was his fault.

He watched as Wilbur’s brown eyes closed, smile fading with his consciousness. They shut the door, leaving Schlatt standing alone on the cold street. He watched them go, watched them take _Wilbur_ away. 

He wondered what the record time was to the hospital. Whatever it was, he was definitely about to beat it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for readingggg hope y’all like my sadness


	5. just fluff. That’s It Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cheshire cat smile spread across Schlatt’s face, still not meeting his gaze, electing to stare at some meaningless commercial to spite him. “Sureeeee. Whatever you say, Wil.”
> 
> Unable to help himself, he felt his face go hot, wrapping his arms around himself. “I... I was staring at your hands, not your bulge!” 
> 
> He realized what he said far too late.
> 
> Schlatt turned to face him, the smile falling, replaced by a dumbfounded look.
> 
> “My... hands?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hand Fic. Uh Oh hand fic time
> 
> it wasn’t supposed to be a hand fic but oh god it turned into one i am so sorry 
> 
> no tws for this and no smut enjoyyyy

Wilbur chuckled, tapping his knee over the blanket. The glare from the TV illuminated his features, casting a strange light on the pair. Schlatt was right next to him, rambling about something Wilbur didn’t understand; something about sports. 

It made absolutely no sense to him; but... he could listen to Schlatt talk for hours, no matter what the subject was. He was so animated, flinging his hands around and nervously fidgeting as he told what must have been a high tension story. Wilbur nodded, trying to show he was still paying attention. Despite his best efforts, his gaze shifted, far less focused on his eyes, and far more focused on the way his body moved, the way his hands splayed as he made his point. Wow. He had really, really good hands. 

Wilbur wondered if Schlatt knew how stunning he was. Not even just appearance wise, though that was definitely a part of it—the way he spoke, how he presented himself, casual, yet with confidence. Schlatt knew who he was, and he didn’t shy away from social situations. It made Wilbur... a little jealous, if he was honest. There was just something so _perfect_ about him. 

“You’re not listening, are you?” 

Wilbur flicked his eyes up hastily. “What? No, I am. You were talking about... like, baseball.” 

Schlatt chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Sure. Sure I was.” 

“What—? Yes, you were, I swear! I was listening, I just don’t... entirely understand that stuff.” 

The american shrugged at him, turning his attention back to the TV screen. “Oh, well. Guess you don’t care enough to listen.” 

Wilbur’s mouth hung open. Oh, Schlatt was _not_ doing this right now. 

“I... what... hey, don’t turn away from me! You’re being a baby.” 

Schlatt offered another shrug, glancing just enough to see the incredulous face staring at him. “Oh, no, no, I see how it is. If it isn’t music or video games, you’re too preoccupied staring at my bulge to listen.” 

That caught Wilbur off guard. He was still for a moment, brain momentarily failing him. 

“W-... I wasn’t... I wasn’t staring at your-... Oh my god. You’re impossible. I wasn’t staring at your crotch!” 

A cheshire cat smile spread across Schlatt’s face, still not meeting his gaze, electing to stare at some meaningless commercial to spite him. “Sureeeee. Whatever you say, Wil.” 

Unable to help himself, he felt his face go hot, wrapping his arms around himself. “I... I was staring at your hands, not your bulge!” 

He realized what he said far too late. 

Schlatt turned to face him, the smile falling, replaced by a dumbfounded look. 

“My... hands?” 

Wilbur resisted the urge to run out of the house. 

“I... yeah. Your hands.” 

They were both silent for a moment. The smile returned to the american, quite a bit more smug this time. 

“Interesting. Really interesting. You... you like my hands, Wil?” There was a clear tone of amusement there, but genuine surprise in it as well. The look in Schlatt’s eyes made Wilbur feel like he was an animal on display at the zoo. 

Swallowing his pride, Wilbur glanced away just slightly, electing to stare at the blanket on top of them instead. 

“Yeah, I mean... not... in a weird way... or anything. They’re just... nice. I mean... uh, they’re... you’re just really expressive with them. When you talk. That’s all.” 

Schlatt let out a rather violent laugh, bringing a hand up to his own face, leaning on it. “Wow. Good save.” 

Wilbur felt both rage and embarrassment build in him, coiling around his throat and choking the air out of him. He was at a loss, unsure of how to even defend himself. 

“I’m just messing with you, Wil. It’s okay. It’s just funny. Are they, uh...” He brought his hand down from his cheek, splaying if in front of himself, raising an eyebrow as he studied it, “Huh. I mean... just looks like a hand to me.”

Perhaps a bit too boldly, Wilbur reached forward, gently cupping the extended hand with his own, tracing a finger down a certain vein. “No, I mean... they’re just nice. Look.” He ran his fingers over certain spots, trying to prove his point. He felt Schlatt shudder under the touch, the gentle ghosting over his skin sending a strange sensation through him. 

Wilbur held onto the hand for an embarrassingly long amount of time, finding himself more preoccupied with examining it rather than proving his point after a while. He didn’t even notice the way Schlatt was staring at him, watching his eyes, admiring every movement. When Wilbur looked up, he was surprised to see the hazy brown eyes staring into his, a small smile on the american’s face. 

“What?” 

“Just looking. You look pretty when you’re focused.” 

For the second time that night, Wilbur was at a loss for words. He just stared ahead, the changing lights on the TV illuminating the man in front of him, casting strange shadows.

“Schlatt?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Please.” 

Wilbur was pretty sure he had never moved faster in his life. His hands flew to Schlatt’s hair, lips colliding in a gentle but rapid kiss. Schlatt wrapped his arms around Wilbur, pulling him into his lap as soon as their lips met. There was no aggression in the kiss, no fight for dominance, genuine affection in the motions. 

They could have stayed like that forever, time moving impossibly fast and yet agonizing slow. At some point Wilbur registered the distant chatter of the TV, an indication that the show had come back on. They had been waiting to watch this show for weeks, planning to watch it together for even longer. This definitely wasn’t something he wanted to interrupt, but... 

Wilbur lightly pushed away from Schlatt, a gentle hand on his chest to indicate ‘stop.’ Schlatt immediately obliged, willingly moving away, staring at Wilbur with slightly wide eyes. “Are you okay?” 

He felt himself heat up at the concern, smiling just slightly. “Of course. Just... you know. The shows back on, and... I would really hate to miss the season finale...” 

There was a moment of silence, followed by slightly maniacal laughter. Schlatt shook his head in disbelief. “God, you are a nerd. Choosing the TV show over a make out session.” He didn’t tease anymore, though, moving the two so that they were facing the screen, Wilbur still entangled in his arms. 

Wilbur only frowned a little, rolling his eyes playfully. He knew it was all in good fun, but god, sometimes he wanted to clock the other man. 

The warmth of his body against his, though... definitely made up for it. They would discuss the details of... what just happened... later. The comfortable silence they fell into was much, much better right now. 

Wilbur wondered if he could convince Schlatt to wear rings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i actually can’t stand myself for shipping a goat and a ghost


	6. HUGE TW very sad angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiders crawled over the exposed parts of Wilbur’s skin, spots of black danced in his vision, creatures lurked in the corner of his eye. There was distant static in his ears, overlapping with the sounds of voices that were not truly there, disembodied and impossible to understand.
> 
> His world was spinning, but he didn’t spin with it. His body was anchored to the ground, dead weighting against the cold tile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️LITERALLY HUGE TRIGGER WARNING   
> like not kidding 
> 
> TW TW TW TW for description of someone dying from a s*icide attempt, description of drugs and their effects, major character death, etc etc etc. wilbur takes lots of pills and this describes his point of view as he’s found by mr schlatt and is very very graphic and 100% potentially upsetting. 
> 
> pls proceed with caution this is one of the darkest things i’ve ever written

Spiders crawled over the exposed parts of Wilbur’s skin, spots of black danced in his vision, creatures lurked in the corner of his eye. There was distant static in his ears, overlapping with the sounds of voices that were not truly there, disembodied and impossible to understand. 

His world was spinning, but he didn’t spin with it. His body was anchored to the ground, dead weighting against the cold tile. There was a loud creak, the sound coming from his front door. 

There was no way for him to know if it was real or not. Everything was blended together, shadow creatures pulling him into the ground, taunting him, begging him to come down there with them; to stay down there with them.

Footsteps approached him. Another spider crawled across him, vanishing as fast as it appeared. A voice echoed through his ear, garbled worlds, gibberish. 

He tried to turn away from the looming figure over him, but he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. His limbs were impossibly heavy, too heavy, _too_ _heavy_. God, he was really, really cold all of a sudden. His entire body was shaking, eye twitching. 

_ Come with us, come with us, don’t fight, just sink, sink, sink, sink.  _

The gibberish kept up from the figure, not as clear as the things pulling him down, hot breath from disembodied voices in his ear. He willed his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t hear his own words. The creature disappeared from his vision, but it moved too fast for him to register which direction it went in. Another spider, another ringing sound. He felt his heart begin to slow, a distant thudding against his chest. 

There was suddenly a sharp, painfully hot hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t jerk away from it, his body refused to cooperate. Fear rushed into his hazy train of thought, sending a shiver through him. He was trapped under the creature’s grasp, unable to escape. The thought of it sent terror through him, the fear of being stuck greater than anything.

More gibberish, louder this time, much closer to him. The hand shook him, the dull pain of a strong hand squeezing his shoulder very present. He knew the thing wanted something, but he wasn’t in control of himself, only moving from the force of the hand and the unconscious jerking of his body. 

Suddenly, he was being raised up, propped up against his kitchen counter, legs still on the cold tile. Oh, he was in the kitchen now. Huh. 

The creature didn’t seem to hurt him, though, so he didn’t mind. Wouldn’t have really minded if it did, either. Frantic eyes were staring at him, the shadowy figure much less shadowy as lights came on. It hurt his eyes, so he shut them, refusing to open them despite the hand shaking him again. He felt his head twitch violently, tears suddenly rolling down his face for no discernible reason. 

How long had he been here? How long ago did he take it? There was no telling. He remembered swallowing the dosage, more than enough to end his silly little life, then laying down, waiting with patience. It didn’t take long for everything to go dark, people coming and going, voices fading in and out, both blindingly illuminated creatures and impossibly dark creatures paying their visit and respects, watching him go kindly, sadness in their eyes at the sight. He wished that pretty little red fox would come back, it had been sweet to him.

The figure in front of him had left it’s post, the hand leaving his shaking shoulder. He dared to open his eyes, the bright light clouding his already nearly gone vision. Where had the thing gone? Why did it leave him? Did he do something wrong? 

Ah, well. It doesn’t really matter, does it? 

It was taking longer than he had expected. But... he had time. He had waited his entire life for this moment, a little longer wouldn’t hurt. 

The figure was suddenly back, crouching down in front of him. There was a new noise, a distant one. He couldn’t quite recognize it. He tried to read the figures lips—a feature he hadn’t even noticed until now—but couldn’t quite make out the words. He felt his body spasm again, violent and unforgiving. Why was liquid running down his chin? He managed to bring his heavy hand up to it, inspecting it with blurry vision. It was red, and warm, spilling out onto his shirt. 

That same hot hand wrapped around his wrist, trying to get his attention. Nearly crossed eyes looked up into the obscured ones staring at him. They looked familiar. Dark brown, obvious dark circles under them, dark eyelashes that framed them nicely. 

He tried to wrack his memories, to figure out where he had seen those confused eyes before. After a while, he gave up, seeing no use in it anymore. 

His pulse was slowing down, anyway. 

A small smile appeared on his face at the idea. It was really ending. Weird. 

His entire life had led up to this. A cold, sad end for a cold, sad man. 

The hand was shaking him once again, his eyes shutting as it did. He wished the fox had stayed, maybe it could make this panicked thing calm down. Nothing bad was happening. Nothing was going to change. 

He was about to be gone, and nothing would change. The world would keep turning. Everyone would wake up, and live. They would breathe, and eat, and sleep, and love, and live, and live, and live, and live. 

They would keep going. 

His body went slack against the counter, twitching for the last time, sliding against the hard surface and back to the floor. He felt the hot hands on him again, this time on both his arms, holding him close to them. 

He wasn’t alone. 

The last thing he could comprehend was a deep longing, a wish that would never be granted. 

He wished he knew who it was. 

Who found him? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....y’all remember how i said my writing tells my mental state?


	7. part 2 to angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pt 2 to the chapter where wilbur gets drugged aaaaaaa it’s the comfort to the hurt !!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW TW for the aftermath of someone being drugged (i think that’s it ???) but be careful 
> 
> y’all asked for this and i’m unhappy w how i wrote it but i live to please the masses

God, hospitals really weirded Schlatt out.

He was sat in the waiting room, the area nearly empty. It was three in the morning, after all. He had been waiting on Wilbur for almost two hours now, every passing minute becoming harder to deal with. 

After an eternity, the door opened, a nurse coming out, clipboard in hand. Schlatt shot up, eyes wide. 

“Oh, hi— uh, are you here for Wilbur Soot?” 

Ignoring how she mispronounced his last name, he nodded, taking a step forward. “Yeah, yeah. I am.” 

“Okay, come with me.” 

His entire body buzzed with nervous energy, head spinning from how quickly he stood. Blinking the darkness out of his vision, he followed her, the fluorescent lights flickering. 

They trailed down hallway after hallway until she reached a bland wooden door, opening it slowly. Wilbur was laying in the hospital bed on his side, eyes closed and hair falling everywhere. Schlatt felt his breath hitch. He mentally berated himself for the sudden warmth that rushed to his cheeks. Jesus, this isn’t the time to remember that you may be in love with him, for fuck’s sake.

“He’s doing better. It wasn’t an overdose, but it was extremely close. Everything is stable, his vitals are good, and he’s breathing well. I don’t know if you... live with him, or know someone who does, or whatever the situation is—but he could go home as soon as I get the okay from the doctor.” 

Schlatt felt relief flood him. 

“Okay—okay, yeah, great.”

“But... I know you spoke to another nurse about this, and legally, we won’t make either of you tell us anything, but... if it was like you said, and he was drugged, do you think he would want to press charges? Or even go to the police about this?” 

He wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. _Would_ that be something Wilbur would want? 

“Oh, uh... I don’t know, honestly. I didn’t exactly... ask.” 

She nodded, never glancing away from Schlatt. “That’s something for him to decide in his own time, then. The doctor will be in soon.” Without letting him respond, she turned on her heels, leaving him alone.

The weight of the situation threatened to pull him under. 

He forced himself to look, to steal a glance at Wilbur.

It hurt. It hurt a lot. 

He was asleep, curled up into himself, facing the wall. Just being near him made Schlatt’s heart race. 

Cautiously, he approached, closing the gap between them. What was he even supposed to do here? What was normal? What wasn’t? 

Schlatt placed a hand on Wilbur’s forehead, alarmed by the freezing cold that radiated from him. He had expected him to have a temperature, if anything, not be so cold. He looked so peaceful, so tired. God, how would he feel when he woke up? 

How could he even help him?

He couldn’t bring himself to wake Wilbur up; not yet. So, he sat, the awkward hospital chair uncomfortable and cold. After about ten minutes of anxious fidgeting, the door opened, a tall man stepping in, presumably the doctor. Schlatt stood again, unsure if that was the right thing to do, anxiety sending shudders through his body. 

A short conversation later, the doctor confirmed everything the nurse had said, giving the okay to take him home. Schlatt could barley hold still the whole time, heart pounding into his chest, lightheaded from how short his breaths were. He wasn’t sure why now, of all times, he was freaking out, but dear _god_ — he might be having a heart attack. At least it’s in a hospital. 

After a painfully tedious amount of paperwork and instructions, Wilbur was in Schlatt’s car, conscious and silent. The clock read four in the morning, flashing as if to mock them. Once they were on the road, Schlatt couldn’t handle the silence anymore. 

“Wilbur...?” He dared a glance, looking away from the road to try and get a read on the pale face next to him. 

There was no response for a moment, lidded and confused eyes looking to him. 

“Yeah?” 

Schlatt glanced to the road, then back at Wilbur, furrowing his brow. 

“How are you feeling?” 

The hazy eyes shifted away from him, electing to stare at his own hands instead. Everything was fuzzy to him, body lagging behind his own actions, objects not quite clear enough to make out. 

“Feel... weird. It’s okay. Not bad. Weird.” 

Schlatt frowned just a little, turning back to the road, nearly missing their turn. Wilbur’s speech was still slurred, slow and confused. “Right. Okay.” 

A silence fell between them. Wilbur felt his eyes start to shut, jerking himself awake right before he fell asleep, repeating that process until Schlatt finally spoke again. 

“Is it okay if we go back to my house? I’m not supposed to leave you alone, and... I mean, we could go to your house, if-if you needed.” 

The words barely made sense to Wilbur. He squinted, trying to concentrate on the individual points. “No, no... your house is fine, ‘s fine. That’s okay.” 

Schlatt nodded. God, this... this was fucking terrible. Wilbur looked so tired. He looked so sad. 

When they arrived, Schlatt parked the car, getting ready to step out. He glanced over to Wilbur, stopping in his tracks. Wilbur was fully asleep, head lolled against the seat. 

Schlatt was starting to think he was cursed. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb the brunette again, and god, he looked so exhausted. But the car isn’t the ideal place to let your drugged friend sleep. 

So, he dragged himself out of his seat, walked over to the passenger side and slowly opened the door. Wilbur didn’t move an inch, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Schlatt couldn’t even feel his hands anymore, pure anxiety sending strange pains through him. He placed his own numb hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder, shaking him gently. Wilbur awoke with a start, fear stirring in him at the sudden touch. 

“Wil? It’s just me. You’re okay. Let’s get you inside, okay?” Schlatt tried his best to sound comforting, tried to push his overwhelming anxiety out of his voice. 

Wilbur blinked, taking in the situation, calming down after a moment. He said nothing, just nodded, wobbly standing up and walking with Schlatt to the house. 

Once they were inside, things started to set in. Wilbur felt his entire body begin to shake, the floor under him suddenly a lot less stable. Schlatt seemed to notice his panic, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him back towards the spare bedroom. 

He was gently set onto the soft bed,  Schlatt sitting down beside him, the only light source coming from the hallway. 

“Are you feeling okay?” 

Wilbur had no idea. 

“Yeah. I’m just... really, really tired.” 

Schlatt paused for a moment, dimly lit eyes staring straight into him. 

“I know... I... Wilbur, we don’t have to talk about this now, if you don’t want to, but... do you know who... did this?” 

Racking through his fuzzy memories was hard. His gaze shifted away from Schlatt as he tried to summon the answer. 

“I... I don’t. Not entirely. I know who gave me it, but that was Karl, and he... he would never do something like this. But I don’t know who gave it to Karl to give to me, i-if you know what I mean. Like, I know Karl didn’t make it, so...” 

Schlatt was still for a moment, trying to process that information. Okay. He needed to talk to Karl, then. As soon as he had a name... well, he was probably going to end up in jail. 

“Okay. Don’t worry about it too much right now. You should just rest first, we can figure it out later. That would cause too much stress for us right now.”

The use of ‘we’ sent warmth through Wilbur. _We_. _Us._

“Schlatt?” 

“Hm?” 

Wilbur considered his word choice carefully. 

“Could you... stay with me? You don’t have to... sleep in the bed with me, or anything, I don’t want to be weird, but— I-I don’t know. I just don’t want to be... alone.” 

Schlatt’s heart may have stopped for a second. There was no way he was understanding this correctly. 

“You want me to stay with you?” 

He was met with a slight head nod, Wilbur flinching at the movement, forgetting how bad of a headache he had. “Yeah. If that’s okay, of course. I-I know that must sound weird— actually, yeah, just forget it, it’s—“ 

“I would love to, Wil. I totally... totally understand that. You’ve been through a lot.” 

Wilbur was silent. He just stared at Schlatt, expression unreadable in the darkness. 

Schlatt stood, helping Wilbur move so that he was actually laying down under the covers, quite a bit more comfortable than his previous position. Schlatt disappeared for a moment, coming back to bring a glass of water and an extra blanket, putting them both in their designated spots. After coming in and out two more times, he had finally gotten everything together, including grabbing a charger for Wilbur’s very dead phone— which was probably blowing up from concerned friends. 

They shared a few mindless conversations, making remarks about things that neither of them really cared about. Schlatt was so, so close to Wilbur, the space in the double bed not nearly enough. _God_ , he was a creep. Wilbur had no interest in him romantically, of course, he was just shaken up and upset. Schlatt hated himself for taking advantage of him like this, when he was vulnerable and scared. 

“Well... I-I’m about to fully black out, so... goodnight, Schlatt.” Wilbur adjusted himself to sink deeper into the bed, curled into himself under the fuzzy covers. 

“...Goodnight, Wilbur.” 

Schlatt turned away from him; anything to ignore the way butterflies fluttered in his stomach everytime Wilbur looked at him. 

Just when he was about to fall asleep, Schlatt felt a small tap on his shoulder. He blinked his eyes open, turning to face the man he assumed was already asleep. 

“Can you...?” 

The unspoken request was understood by Schlatt. A wave of nostalgia hit him, reminiscent of a much scarier moment in the same bed. 

“Yeah.” He whispered, voice hoarse and low. Wilbur scooted closer, his head moving to rest on Schlatt’s chest, one of his arms wrapping around him. Schlatt let him adjust, embracing him as soon as he was in a comfortable position, trying his best to ignore how fast his heart was beating.

They fell asleep easily, both exhausted from the entire night. Wilbur slept for longer than Schlatt thought was humanely possible, but he stayed there, holding him until he stirred awake.

There was a lot they needed to discuss. About them, about Wilbur, about what to do next. But, for now, they laid together in comfortable silence, breaths matched. 

This _probably_ wasn’t platonic, Schlatt decided. 


	8. comfort vent fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur is confronted with a harsh reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s my hurt/comfort fic as a sincere sincere apology for being absolutely fucking dead for nearly a month now. i swear im not dead and i haven’t forgotten about all my series and stuff,,, i’m just having a really, REALLY bad time irl rn. 
> 
> TW TW TW for graphic eating disorders/self harm/implied suicide in this fic. enjoy!!!

Wilbur stood up, hand desperately holding onto the side of wood, trying to keep himself steady as his body revolted against itself. 

Everything spun around him, world going dark and spotty. 

This was routine. Stand up, try not to black out, end up on the floor, stand back up again, promise to get better— never do it. 

It’s hard to get better when people love you so much sick. 

Jealous stares at your body, at the way your collarbones jut out behind your sweater, at the way your hip bones press against your already loose jeans. 

They wouldn’t be as envious if they saw the life behind it. 

  
Waking up so sick and weak you have to call your friend and beg them to help you. So endlessly cold that even through three layers you shake like a leaf. Throwing up clear liquid and blood onto your friends carpet at their birthday party. 

People romanticize things they don’t understand. 

If only this would kill him already. He wondered if people would be as quick to swoon over his emaciated corpse. 

“Wilbur?” 

He glanced up, hand still firm on the table. Schlatt practically loomed over him. He hadn’t even noticed his presence until then— how long had he been standing there?

“Yeah?” 

They kept eye contact for a moment. 

“You’re dying. You know that, right?” 

It’s not everyday someone so bluntly confronts you like that. I mean, sure; they may think it behind your back, but to be so confidently met with that reality? 

He was speechless. 

What could he even say? Denial? Acceptance? Can he even downplay it anymore? The way Schlatt said it left no room for argument, no room to bargain. 

“...Yeah. I do.” 

“So why are you doing this? Do you _want_ to die?” 

Wilbur subconsciously shook his head, vision tunneling slightly as he stood straight up. 

The fabric of his jeans moved against the open cuts on his thighs, reminding him of last nights endeavors. Shaking hands holding a blade over already hopelessly scarred skin, the thought of how easy it would be to end this all now swimming through his mind. 

Schlatt raised the question Wilbur asked himself every night. 

_ Do you want to die?  _

“I don’t know,” He admitted, voice shaky and weak. 

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Schlatt seemed to take in the response, blinking in slight surprise. 

“People care about you, Wil. Really care about you. Like, actually care. And they— _we_ worry about you.” 

Wilbur swallowed hard, emotion building in him. Don’t fucking cry, not right now, not in front of him. 

He felt his eyes begin to water, chest becoming dangerously tight. God, breathing was suddenly a lot harder than before. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t... I don’t _want_ to be like this.” 

Schlatt took a step forward, examining the pale man in front of him. Tears rolled down Wilbur’s cheeks now, eyes unfocused. 

“Please don’t... please don’t cry. It’s... it’s okay. We can just drop it.” 

All the emotion that he tried to push down began to suffocate him. His entire body shook, now unable to breathe at all. “No, n-no, it’s not okay, I’m not o-okay. You’re right, I’m f-fucking stupid, and it’s my fault, and I k-know it is, but I can’t h-help it, I can’t help it, Schlatt,” he hiccuped, taking in a desperate gasp of air, words spilling out of him, “I c-can’t stop it. I j-just want to f-fucking die already— I don’t know how else t-to make it stop.” 

Wilbur hadn’t even noticed he was on the floor, on his knees in front of Schlatt now, who had bent down to his level and was practically cradling him— a level of physical contact they had never had until now. Schlatt was rubbing circles on his back, whispering small reassurances, but letting him speak. 

“It’s so s-stupid, I k-k-know it is, but I can’t s-stop it. I-I can’t do this anymore. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, _I can’t_ —“ He broke off into a pathetic sob, grabbing onto Schlatt’s shirt like a child, barely able to keep himself from blacking out right then from the lack of air. Schlatt just held onto him in return, silently shaking his head. 

He just let Wilbur cry, holding onto him as he gasped for air. Wilbur sobbed until he physically couldn’t, out of energy and out of tears, shaking violently against Schlatt. 

After Wilbur’s breathing became relatively normal, Schlatt sighed, releasing his firm hold slightly. 

“Can I take you home, Wilbur?” 

Wilbur tried to stop his hiccups, pushing away just slightly to examine the American’s face. 

“W-what?” He questioned, genuine confusion evident in his voice. 

Schlatt looked like he’d been crying as well. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his mouth set in a seemingly permanent frown, faint tear streaks on his cheeks. “To my house,” he explained, “Just for a while. Please, Wilbur. I don’t... I don’t know what will happen if you...” He paused for a moment, glancing away before meeting hazy brown eyes. “I’m afraid of what you’ll do to yourself if you’re alone.” 

Wilbur was stunned. 

He was right, of course. 

If Wilbur went back home, left to his own thoughts... he probably wouldn’t come out again. Not unless it was on a stretcher. But, to be confronted with that reality... hurt. 

“Okay.”


	9. angst and an explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know how stupid that was?” 
> 
> Schlatt pulled away from the hug as he spoke, hands still firmly around Wilbur. Their eyes met, two gazes from two very different perspectives.
> 
> Wilbur was speechless for a moment. 
> 
> “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... first off: Big Big TW TW for suicide and the aftermath of a suicide attempt!! 
> 
> read the end notes for an explanation on this fic and also why i was gone for like 15,, days ,, love you and hope you enjoy despite the shortness. i just wanted to put something out <3 
> 
> if you’ve left a comment, know i’ve read it and cherish it so so much even though i haven’t been responding. thank you so much for the support

“Do you know how stupid that was?” 

Schlatt pulled away from the hug as he spoke, hands still firmly around Wilbur. Their eyes met, two gazes from two very different perspectives.

Wilbur was speechless for a moment. 

“I do.” 

The slightly shorter man just shook his head in disbelief, a look of pure confusion on his face. “If you had succeeded, Wilbur... do you have any idea what that would have done to us? To me? To your family?” 

There was once again a pause between them as Wilbur considered his response carefully. He knew it was coming, of course. After the excited greeting and warm welcome, he knew they would arrive here. It’s only natural. 

A week ago, he attempted suicide. Now, after a long hospital visit and some complications, he was back home. It still didn’t feel real. The last seven days were a blur of pain and longing, days he didn’t want to revisit anytime soon. 

“I’m sorry. I really, really am.” 

Schlatt laughed sadly, slowly removing his arms from around Wilbur, taking a step back. “You don’t... you don’t need to be sorry, Wil. That came off mean. I’m sorry. Just... just don’t do that shit again. Seriously.” 

He paused, eyes studying Wilbur’s features. “ _Please_.”

Wilbur let himself think for a moment, _actually_ think— arguably for the first time since his attempt. He thought about his friends, thought about his family. What if he _had_ succeeded? 

Tommy was the first one who came to mind. Oh, _god_.

Fucking Tommy. If Tommy had to live knowing his big brother took his own life, knowing he wasn’t enough to keep him here... Wilbur felt sick.

And Techno. Losing his little brother, the middle child, the glue that kept the chaotic eldest and somehow more chaotic youngest together. Wilbur couldn’t imagine how he would react. There was no knowing. He didn’t... _want_ to know, anyway. 

Other people came to mind. Nikki, Tubbo, Phil...

Schlatt.

Standing right before him, eyes nervous, stance awkward and sincere. 

Schlatt had been the one to find him. If he had came even just thirty minutes later, he would have found a very, very different scene. 

How could he have lived with that? Lived with finding Wilbur’s lifeless body on his floor?

_Could_ he have lived with that?

“Wil?” 

Schlatt’s voice cut through, echoing in his ears as he snapped out of his trance. “Yeah?” 

“You went all quiet, it just worried me.” 

Wilbur shook his head weakly, raising his hands to cover his eyes. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just... god. I don’t even know what to say.” 

Warm arms wrapped around him again, gently embracing him. He leaned into the affection, resting his head in the crook of Schlatt’s neck. “You don’t have to say anything,” Schlatt whispered, “Everything is okay now. You’re okay now. Okay?” 

He wanted Schlatt to be right so badly. So badly.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,,, TW for discussion of suicide, hospitals, hospitalization etc etc below
> 
> ——————————
> 
> ——————————
> 
> okay hi. so. two weeks ago on thursday i attempted suicide. i ended up in the hospital for about 4 days and then ended up in a mental hospital for a week. i just got back on monday and uh,,, well. i’m a bit fucked up and all that from this situation but rest assured i am physically okay and mentally much better! i don’t want anyone to worry, i’m doing well right now :) i just wanted to make this vent fic for obvious vent reasons but also to make sure everyone knows i didn’t drop off the face of the earth and i will be writing more soon. the medication i’m on makes it so so hard to sit still and write so it will be quite a bit before i can finish anything major, so expect drabbles for the foreseeable future aaaa!! i hope you have a lovely day and thank you for reading :~)


	10. angst duh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt escapes to the roof.
> 
> Wilbur finds him up there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meaningless drabble where i project onto schlatt for some reason
> 
> i’ve been... bad again gang lol. sorry for being so inactive, i have no good excuse ,,, 
> 
> TW TW for suicide mention and intention of it plus self harm and alcoholism and drugs and such

Schlatt smiled to himself, legs swinging over the roof, dangerously close to the edge as he swung back the mixture he held in his hands. 

It could have been anything, honestly, he didn’t ask. 

But, as a seasoned alcoholic, his best guess was vodka and whatever random shitty juice the makeshift bartender had found in his fridge. 

The party was going great, obviously. 

He definitely wasn’t considering letting his balance get worse. No, that would never happen, of course. It would be terrible for them to find him splattered on the concrete below. 

Well, not that terrible. But, you know, the mess of it all. Lots of blood. Stains easy. 

The last thing he needs is to cause more trouble. 

“Schlatt?” 

He barely caught himself in time, free hand grabbing onto the rough roof, the only thing that kept him from flying over—which would have been painfully ironic.

Whipping his head around fast enough to make him dizzy, he was met with a tall curly haired man looming over him. It was too dark to see specific facial features, but he knew who it was immediately. 

“Oh, god, Wilbur, you scared the fuck out of me.” 

A small chuckle resonated from him, wringing his hands in front of himself. “Sorry,” he whispered, voice oddly low, “Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Schlatt couldn’t help the smile that spread across his rather flushed face. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but Wilbur is the exact person he wanted to see. Really, he’s the only one he wanted to see. 

“It’s alright. You’re just... real fuckin’ silent for a giant of a man.” His tone was friendly, only lightly mocking. Wilbur chuckled at that, but said nothing in response as he sat beside Schlatt, legs now hanging over inches away from his own. 

Unable to handle silence, Schlatt tried to wrack his very drunk mind on a topic, a question, anything. 

Two long minutes of silence later, Wilbur finally spoke, a barely visible smile on his face. 

“You worry me, Schlatt. Why are you on the roof?”

Schlatt felt his eye involuntarily twitch. This felt like a trap. “I just... got overwhelmed. That’s all.” 

“Is it?” 

The question hung in the air between them for a moment. Schlatt swallowed the panic rising in him and forced a small smile. 

“Yeah, it was just hot and loud— and way too chaotic for a thursday night.” 

Thank fuck that elicited another laugh. If he couldn’t be funny, Wilbur would realize how useless and worthless he is. 

Out of conversation topics, Schlatt reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny tin, opening it and causing the constant and extreme smell of cigarettes to waft around them. Wilbur made a sour face, the reasoning behind that a mystery to Schlatt.

“Want one?” He gestured his hand out over the brit’s lap, smiling kindly. 

Wilbur made a small noise, then shook his head, gently pushing the hand away to decline it. Schlatt shrugged. This is about what he assumed would happen. Wilbur is probably one of the tamer ones— well, except around alcohol. Finding Wilbur blackout drunk with throw up all around him is a sight Schlatt is glad he only heard through second hand stories. 

After a struggle with the small lighter, smoke began to blow away in the wind, causing Schlatt to wince. If he wasn’t already dependent he would never smoke again. 

“So, you sure you’re alright? Not pressing, just checking.” 

Lying about this was just second nature. He smiled, nodded lightly, adding a small ‘yeah’. It seemed to convince everyone. At least, they never asked again, which was good enough for him. 

Wilbur wasn’t everyone. 

There was no response for a moment, but tension lingered in the air between them through the silence. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I won’t be weird about it. I’m not the most stable person in the world.” 

Schlatt glanced over mid-drag, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise as he did. 

After a small exhale, he smiled slightly. People were usually annoying when they tried to help— but for some reason, he found this... rather endearing, not annoying. 

“Thanks, Wil. There’s nothing to talk about, though. Not really, anyway. Just...” He made the ‘crazy’ gesture next to his head, smiling wide, “Fucked up in here.” 

Thankfully, the joke landed, a small chuckle escaping the taller man. “You’re not crazy, Schlatt, don’t say that.” 

A less humored laugh came from him, taking another drag. “Yeah, well... glad you think so. Just feels like it sometimes, y’know?”

Wilbur nodded, but Schlatt knew he didn’t really understand. They were two very different types of sad— Wilbur was the type that people actually cared about. Schlatt was not. People cared when Wilbur was sad, when he would consider hurting himself, drinking for days on end, lying curled up in bed alone. People understood that kind of sad, and they worried about him.

But when Schlatt downed pills alone in his room and lashed out to everyone he loved out of fear, when he hit things and shattered glass just to feel something—people didn’t understand that. It scared them when he would see things, when he would scream and cry at every little thing, hold himself and shake and rock, unable to verbally respond... People don’t like it, and they don’t care. They only care if you fit the small, compact box of mental illness they understand. 

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”


	11. some comfort for us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt is drunk and misses his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a romantic comfort schlattbur drabble <3
> 
> no TW except for alcohol/drug use !

Schlatt held onto the counter with such force that he was afraid he may break it. 

A full bottle of liqour and twenty random pills in, he wasn’t feeling... tip-top presidental shape. He wandered around the party aimlessly, in search of one thing and one thing only.

His Wilbur. His Wilbur.

God, it felt _so_ good to be able to call him his. After months of pining, he was finally his. The thought itself sent so much warmth through his body he felt his cheeks flush.

Still, after making a full round through the packed house party, Wilbur was no where to be seen. 

Not deterred by this fact at all, Schlatt set off to make his second round, stopping only to say polite greetings to friends before rushing off back to his much more important search. 

After hitting a few walls and kneeing one bookshelf, he made it upstairs, eyes scanning for any sign of a curly haired man in a sweater. 

The bathroom? Nope. The spare bedroom? Nope. The supply closet? Nope. The crawl space? Nope. The drawers? Nope.

Running out of hope and places to look, Schlatt felt himself start to sink a bit, his euphoric intoxicated turning into a much more depressed one. 

Just when he was about to give up all hope, he noticed a mop of curly brown hair in the sea of people just by the stairs. 

His heart skipped a beat. 

With no hesitation, he took off, taking the steps three by three as he practically flew down the stairs to reach Wilbur. 

As soon as he was within range, he flapped his hands around wildly, a huge grin on his flushed face. “ _Willllll_ ,” he half screamed, “ _Wilburrrrr_!” 

His boyfriend turned to see what was going on, eyebrows raised and a gradually huge smile forming as soon as he recognized who it was. 

“Schlatt!” He tried to match the enthusiasm, only failing slightly. “C’mere, silly.” 

Schlatt did not need to be told twice. He ran over and practically threw himself onto Wilbur, who in turn set down his drink to wrap his arms around the american. 

“Oh my god, you’re so drunk,” Wilbur exclaimed, a hint of laughter in the sentence, “Do you need to sit down, honey?” 

Schlatt shook his head, burying it further into the crook of Wil’s neck, smiling to himself. “Noooo. This is good. I was so scared! You went missing!” As he spoke the last part, he moved his head back so that his boyfriend would for sure see his pout. Unfortunately, all it elicited was an eye roll. 

“I was in the same spot you left me, silly. Just stay with me this time, yeah?” 

Wilbur seemed pleased with the nod he received, planting a small kiss on Schlatt’s mouth before placing his hand in the shorter man’s hand. “C’mon, do you want to go get you a snack? I think you need it.” 

Half a pack of saltine crackers and animal crackers later, Wilbur and Schlatt sat on the large communal couch, snuggled up to each other as they listen to Ted share some strange story. Schlatt was definitely not listening.

All he could think about was Wilbur. About how goddamn lucky he is to have him. Of all the people in the world, Wil chose him. The most perfect, kind, beautiful soul in the world chose him. 

He fears sometimes it’s all just a dream.

But as Wilbur holds him, hand in hand as they lean against each other surrounded by pillows and blankets... it feels pretty _damn_ real. And god, he’s happy. Happier than he’s ever been. 

As long as Wilbur is there, he’s happy. No matter what.

As long as he has him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is short Hhh 
> 
> thank u for reading !!


	12. “then don’t look.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months of a painful relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for references to alcohol, suicide, drugs, self harm, etc. if there’s a trigger, you name it, it’s probably here 
> 
> not doing very good. here’s my vent drabble. if we’re friends and i’m ignoring you, i’m sorry

“You don’t think about it anymore, right?”

The words hung heavy over the pair. Wilbur was sat on the edge of the bed, gaze unfocused and eyes glazed over. Schlatt was sat directly beside him, facing him with purpose even as Wilbur refused to meet his gaze. 

Schlatt waited for a response, but received none. 

Months of a relationship had gone by in a blur. A blur of alcohol, drugs, finding Wilbur unconscious, hospitals, begging, flushing blades and lots of fights. 

Schlatt just wanted him to be happy. There was not a single thing more painful in the world to him than watching Wilbur do what he did to himself. And yet, he was powerless to stop it. Everytime he threw away the pills, threw away all the knives in the house, made compromises, was given promises— he’d always come home to the same thing. 

Finding pills stashed away in jacket pockets, blades in underwear drawers, alcohol stashed in empty coke bottles. 

Wilbur hasn’t spoken in what felt like eternity. It had been a full month since his attempt. 

Despite that, everything just felt worse. He hardly spoke to Schlatt anymore. When he did, it was shaky, nonsensical and confused, drug fueled and drunken. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. _Relationships_ _aren’t_ supposed to be like this. Everyday ended in Schlatt laying awake in bed, heart heavier than the night before next to his shell of a boyfriend. 

“Wilbur?” 

Brown eyes momentarily focused, blinking once, then twice. Wilbur slowly turned his head just enough to make eye contact, flicking his gaze up to meet the ever concerned one. 

“No. Of course not.” 

Schlatt felt his heart twist at the response. He knew Wilbur wouldn’t tell him the truth, but it still hurt. He felt tears prick his eyes, a pathetic look forming on his face. He wished it didn’t hurt _so_ fucking bad. To know your own boyfriend, who claims to love you, would never even tell you how he’s feeling, would lie and hide things and keep secret after secret after _fucking_ secret. 

His friends would tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that Wilbur couldn’t help it. _It’s a mental illness,_ they say, _it’s nothing either of you can help. It’s not personal, it’s not your fault._

But it _feels_ so goddamn personal. It sure hurts like it is. Pushing down his own bubbling anger, he sighs before speaking again. 

“I found the pills.” 

There was no change on Wilbur’s face. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. He just made a small noise of recognition as his gaze drifted away again, instead landing on the wooden floor. Schlatt wished he knew the thoughts going through his head. Maybe then he could make sense of this hopeless situation. 

Wilbur let out what might have been a laugh, but it was strangled and small, barely making it out of him.

“Did you throw them away?” 

Schlatt felt his face fall even further. He clenched his fist in his lap, shutting his eyes tight for a moment. “Of course I did. Of _course_ I fucking threw them away.” 

Wilbur made another small sound of recognition, shifting a little. Schlatt kept his eyes closed for a moment longer before forcing them open, taking in the sight of his boyfriend again. 

His tangled curly hair— that was far overdue on a haircut— was falling in his tired eyes, the dark circles under them impossibly dark, framing the empty brown that refused to meet his own. He was much skinnier than before, frail and bruised. Schlatt only ever saw him eat if he made him, which he could only manage every so often. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he drank water anymore— he barely saw him do anything but lay in bed or lock himself away to do god knows what. 

“You... you can’t keep living like this, Wil. I can’t keep... watching you do this.” 

Another strangled laugh escaped him, just past his cracked lips. His entire body shook as he raised a hand to his face, cupping his own cheek and shutting his eyes, leaning into it as if to comfort himself. 

A moment of silence passed as tears fell out of his closed eyes. 

“Then don’t look.” 


	13. last chapter continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur finds himself alone on the top of a building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW TW TW for suicide and very graphically so. descriptions of a past one and this is wilbur about to attempt again. please take care and heed those warnings
> 
> part two to the last chapter— you don’t have to read it, but you can for more context

Wilbur’s hair is all in his eyes, whipped around wildly by the forceful wind that hit against him on top of the tall building. As he stared into his inevitable doom—the gruesome fate that awaited him at the concrete below— he couldn’t help but wonder—

How the hell did he get here? 

The two suicide attempts before had, clearly, failed. One landed him in the hospital, one didn’t. It probably... should have, but... he didn’t have Schlatt then. 

Schlatt had found him. The second time, he found him, unconscious on the bathroom floor, high out of his mind and in a pool of his own blood. He didn’t let himself think about that, think about how Schlatt must have felt, how it must have felt to find your boyfriend like that. Barely breathing, unmoving on the floor with gashes covering every inch of his skin. He couldn’t _imagine_ finding Schlatt like that. 

It would destroy him. Crush him. 

Which is why he’s here. 

This way, Schlatt won’t find him like that. This way, it’ll finally work. This way, Schlatt will never have to deal with him again. No mess, no fear, no week long hospital stay. 

Just black. A few seconds of falling, and black. 

Well... he’s not sure about his thoughts on the afterlife, but it’s too late for all that now. He probably should have made up his mind about that years ago, but... he’s been busy. Busy getting high and numbing out scary thoughts like those. 

He knows what he puts Schlatt through. All the pain of watching his destroy himself, of trying to repair something hopelessly broken. It was killing him. Wilbur knows that. Schlatt tried so, so, _so_ hard to fix him that it was breaking _him_ too. 

This is the only way he can fix things. This is the only way out he has. No more prolonged suffering, no more putting a burden on others. No more sleepless nights, no more hiding behind locked doors. 

Just black. Just darkness. 

Wilbur dared another glance over the precipice, at the nearly empty road below. 

Part of him held back. 

This deep, shameful part of him wanted to be stopped. He wanted Schlatt to show up, just like the movies, and stop him. Stop him from ending it, and take him home, and hold him, and tell him he’s okay— even if they both know it’s a lie. 

So he waits. Pauses. Rocks back and forth on his converse clad feet. 

And no one comes. 

Because this isn’t the movies. And you don’t get saved how you want to be. 

He prepares himself for the jump. Takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and readies himself, one foot ready to slip over. 

He opens one eye just enough to see the city below. 

...Would it be too much of a hassle to clean up all the blood splatter from the road? 

It probably would be. 

And what if he hit a car? He could kill someone else, if the timing was bad. He could even traumatize some poor kid on the sidewalk— he can’t really make out if there‘s people approaching from here. What if he jumps at the wrong time and causes something terrible to happen? What if he ruins another life? Especially if it’s a kid— or some family coming back from dinner. If they had to witness something like this... it would never leave them. It would tear them up inside the way things tore him up. If he jumps... and something bad happens...

He shouldn’t. He just shouldn’t. He can’t do that to some poor kid, or some random citizen driving— he can’t. He just _can’t._

He can’t. 

...

Wilbur wonders if Schlatt is home yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be a part 3 because i cant write stuff not like this


End file.
